


and i hear my heart breaking tonight

by crosspin



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by Fanart, M/M, Stabbing, no death just maiming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:41:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28483335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crosspin/pseuds/crosspin
Summary: “What?” Zuko asks, as Sokka continues to stare at him with mounting dread. His eyes follow Sokka’s, down toward his abdomen, where a dark stain is blossoming across his stomach far more quickly than liquid should be leaving a body.Zuko is hurt.Inspired by this fanart by hi-raethia.
Relationships: Sokka/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 97
Kudos: 607





	and i hear my heart breaking tonight

**Author's Note:**

> So...this is self-indulgent, gratuitous, and depressing, but I couldn't get it out of my head after seeing [this fanart](https://hi-raethia.tumblr.com/post/638953099812339712/and-again-and-again-and-again-and-again-and-again). Please click the link and give the artist the love she deserves! 
> 
> CW: detailed descriptions of excessive blood loss. 
> 
> Title is from [Pink in the Night by Mitski.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c-B5yr2zyY0&ab_channel=Mitski-Topic)

_Zuko wasn’t supposed to be here._

It’s the thought that keeps echoing through Sokka’s head, muscles aching as he swings his sword at the last of his attackers. Zuko wasn’t supposed to be _here_. His visit to Republic City was meant to last through the next week, and he’d cut his trip short only because Sokka had begged him in one too many lonely, late-night letters to please come home. Sokka was supposed to be in the capital alone. And that means this assassination attempt really was intended for _him_. 

Going public with their relationship has its downsides, Sokka supposes. 

Behind him, he can hear the clattering of feet and the blasts of fire that are erupting between Zuko and his opponent, but Sokka forces himself to ignore them as he dances with the cloaked assassin before him. The man’s not a firebender, apparently, but he is quick with a dagger, and Sokka finds himself alternating between brandishing his blade and leaping from side to side to escape the onslaught of his increasingly haphazard thrusts. Whoever’s responsible for this plot really, _really_ wants him dead.

Finally, his blade passes so near to the man’s face that he stumbles, and Sokka is able to land a solid _whack_ with his hilt on the man’s forehead. He slumps to the ground, unmoving. 

“Spirits, it’s like they’re _trying_ to get all their guys killed,” Sokka huffs, finally letting his sword swing down to his side. He’ll need to clean the blood off before he can return it to its sheath. “What, I’m not worthy of their most skilled assassins? At least flatter a guy before you try to murder him.”

“Don’t – tempt them,” Zuko grunts from behind, and Sokka turns around in time to see the man Zuko’s been grappling with fall to the ground. 

“Oh, come on. The two of us took out – what, ten guys? All on our own, totally unscathed? We’re unbeatable, babe.” 

Zuko chuckles. “Can you please not let this go to your head?” he asks, even though Sokka can already feel this going _directly_ to his head. “Agni knows you’re cocky enough.” He’s had his back to Sokka, bent over the unconscious body, but now he straightens, wiping his hands on his robes. And then – 

And then Zuko turns around. 

And then Sokka sees it. 

It – _it_ could be innocuous. It looks almost mundane, like Zuko’s tipped a glass of wine over onto himself and stained his robes with dark alcohol, like the antique clothing will be the only casualty of the day. And that’s the box Sokka’s brain _forces_ what he’s seeing into. Because it isn’t – Zuko _can’t_ be –

“What?” Zuko asks, as Sokka continues to stare at him with mounting dread. His eyes follow Sokka’s, down toward his abdomen, where a dark stain is blossoming across his stomach far more quickly than liquid should be leaving a body. Zuko’s eyebrows knit together in something that looks almost like confusion. 

“Oh…?” he says, like he’s just as surprised to see the color pooling there as Sokka is. He presses a hand against his stomach, more bewildered than anything else. But as he raises his fingers back up to his face, it’s not red wine dripping down them. It’s blood.

Zuko stumbles. 

“ _SOMEBODY HELP US!_ ” Sokka yells to the empty room as he flies toward Zuko and catches him by the shoulders before he can fall. This is the absolute worst case scenario, so Sokka rationalizes it better. The wound can’t be _that_ bad, surely it’s only a scratch, it must look worse than it is, _Zuko can’t_ –

No. He won’t let his mind go there.

Heart pounding even harder than when he was fighting for his life, Sokka throws Zuko’s arm over his shoulder to hold him steady. “I’ve got you, sweetheart, it’s okay,” he babbles, his voice about two octaves higher than its standard register. Zuko’s still got that disoriented look on his face, like he doesn’t understand what’s going on, so Sokka puts his free hand around Zuko’s waist. “Let’s – let’s just, lay down, okay?” 

Zuko doesn’t even have time to agree before his legs seem to give out from under him, all of his weight shifting onto Sokka. “Okay, it’s okay, it’s okay, you’re okay,” Sokka says, trying to believe the words as he lowers them both gingerly to the ground, kneeling so he can pull Zuko’s body into his lap. His fingers weave through Zuko’s hair and pull it against his chest, cradling it there as Sokka takes stock of his body.

Blood is still seeping from the wound at an alarming rate. Sokka glances toward the doorway – no help has arrived. And someone needs to do _something_ , or Zuko’s going to – 

Focus. _Focus_. Sokka’s not a healer, but he knows if Zuko’s going to have a fighting chance, he has to keep as much of that blood in his body as possible. Of course there are no conveniently-placed towels or blankets around them, so instead Sokka prays for future-Zuko’s forgiveness and bunches up the bottom hem of his floor-length robes, pressing the fabric against the place the blood seems thickest. They absorb the liquid, almost too well, and Sokka has to fight the bile back into his stomach at the sight of his hand being drenched in his boyfriend’s blood. 

“Hey. Sokka,” Zuko rasps, voice laced with concern.

“It’s okay, sweetheart, you’re gonna be just fine,” Sokka promises as he watches the door, hoping against all hope someone will find them here.

“ _Sokka_ ,” Zuko repeats insistently. “You’re hurt.” 

Sokka’s eyes snap back to Zuko’s, which are staring somewhere around his forehead. He raises one trembling hand to Sokka’s face. Sokka almost flinches at the lightness of the contact – it feels alarmingly weak, not at all like the way Zuko’s learned to touch him after all these years. Zuko pulls his hand back, and his fingers are dripping with fresh blood. “See?”

“It’s nothing,” Sokka assures him. So what if he’s got a little scratch on his face? It’s nothing, absolutely _nothing_ compared to – to – 

“You need – ” Zuko starts, but cuts himself off with a fit of coughing that sends his whole body shaking. 

“ _Shh_ , I’m fine, I’m fine,” Sokka tells him. “Just look at me, okay? You don’t have to say anything.”

“No. Sokka. You need – ” Zuko tries again, but he coughs even harder this time, so forcefully his body practically doubles over. And this time, when he looks back up, there’s a trail of blood dripping from his mouth. 

Sokka feels like his lungs have turned to lead.

“ _CAN SOMEBODY FUCKING HELP US?_ ” he screams desperately toward the door. Spirits above, there has to be at least one single person in this entire fucking building who heard the fight going down. Zuko is the Fire Lord, for fuck’s sake. His entire royal guard deserves to be banished. 

“Sokka. Hey,” Zuko says quietly, and it’s almost viscerally painful, the way it sounds like _he’s_ trying to comfort _Sokka_. “Everything’s going to be okay, love.”

“I know, I know,” Sokka murmurs, turning back to face him. He can feel tears welling at the corners of his eyes, but for Zuko he manages a smile. “You’re right. Everything’s going to be just fine.” 

_Is it?_ The bleeding doesn’t appear to be stopping, and Sokka is running out of fabric to staunch the flow. And that’s not even to mention whatever’s happening inside Zuko’s body that’s apparently sending blood up through his windpipe. Sokka’s sure that Zuko’s face has never looked this pale, and he tries not to think about where all its color has gone. At this rate it’s a wonder Zuko is even conscious at all. 

“Look at how pretty it is,” Zuko says. His eyes have skimmed past Sokka’s face and are now fixed somewhere on the ceiling above him. Sokka is grateful that at least there’s nothing in Zuko’s expression to indicate he’s in any sort of pain; on his lips there’s just the barest hint of a smile. 

“How pretty what is, sweetheart?” Sokka asks, half humoring him as he uses his hand to wipe the blood from Zuko’s face. Someone will show up any minute now, that’s what he _has_ to believe or else he’s going to – 

“The sunshine.”

The room is dark. There are no windows.

“ _SOMEBODY, PLEASE_ ,” Sokka yells, feeling himself verging on hysteria. The helplessness of the whole situation is making his breaths start to come quick and unsteady, head swimming with deprivation and panic. What’s he supposed to do? It’s not like he can move Zuko in this condition, and yet waiting feels like watching an execution play in slow motion before his eyes. 

“I feel really tired,” Zuko tells him, almost casually, like he isn’t bleeding out in Sokka’s arms. His eyelids are heavy now, fluttering open and shut over his glazed eyes. “I think...I think I need some rest.” 

“Zuko, _no_ ,” Sokka snaps. Whatever happens, he is _not_ letting Zuko slip from consciousness. His hand in Zuko’s hair jerks Zuko’s head roughly toward him, so Zuko’s forced to meet his eye. “You stay awake, okay? Stay with me.”

“Sokka…” Zuko looks hurt, and Sokka feels instantly terrible. He can’t talk to Zuko like that, not when any word could be...well. “I’m sorry, I’m just – I feel really sleepy.” 

“I know you do,” Sokka says. He means for his voice to be reassuring, but to him it only sounds high-pitched and hysterical. “I just - I need you to stay awake, okay? Just keep your eyes on me. Please.” 

“Oh.” Zuko gives him another small smile. “That’s easy.” 

Sokka gulps down the sob that bubbles up in his throat. 

Zuko opens his mouth as if to speak, but instead lets out another horrible cough, one that has him gasping for breath for what feels like minutes on end. Sokka tries to soothe him, but when Zuko finally lies still, his face is splattered with blood again. 

_It’s too much blood_ , says the rational part of Sokka’s brain. The robes he’s still holding pressed against Zuko’s stomach are completely soaked, and there’s more blood coming from his mouth and from a cut on his cheek Sokka hadn’t noticed before. It’s too much blood for any one person to lose, not without being healed, and there are no healers in sight. Which means... 

It’s an outcome that feels almost physically impossible to contemplate, and yet the evidence leaves him with no other choice. For Zuko’s sake, Sokka has to force his mind to accept the truth. This – this could be it.

“I’ve been thinking,” Zuko says calmly, cutting through Sokka’s panic. “We should get married.” 

It’s _that_ , of all things, that dissolves the last of Sokka’s self-control. He bursts into tears, pressing his face into Zuko’s hair as suppressed sobs return with a vengeance. The robe is already ruined – what’s a little more saltwater? 

_What am I supposed to do without you?_ he thinks as he takes in the most familiar scent in the world, now muddled with the metallic smell of blood. _How am I supposed to live without you? I can’t do this, Zuko, I **can’t**_ \- 

“Hey. It’s okay, Sokka,” Zuko tells him, composed as ever. “Don’t cry, love, it’s okay.”

“I know, I know,” Sokka says, pressing a wet kiss to Zuko’s temple, trying his best to memorize the temperature, the taste. “I love you so much, you know that, right? I love you so fucking much – ”

The doors to the room burst open, and honestly? Sokka can’t remember much about what happens after that. A team of healers stampedes inside, and then they’re surrounded. Several sets of hands are necessary to pry Zuko’s body from Sokka’s grip, and when he’s finally freed, Sokka is left crumpled on the floor, alone. He’s there until the liquid decorating every surface of his body turns brown. 

  


* * *

  


It’s a blessing that Sokka’s own screams awaken him.

He knows the dream well. It’s the one where Zuko’s body grows so light it feels like Sokka’s clutching air, where the color leaves Zuko’s face as quickly as it stains Sokka’s hands. And the room around them fills and fills and fills with blood until they’re drowning in it, and Sokka can’t even call for help anymore because with every inhale his choking mouth fills with –

“Sokka, what – ”

“Nothing, it’s nothing,” Sokka says quickly, not even convincing himself. He’s still panting, still forcing his brain to realize he’s _not_ drowning, and Zuko _isn’t_ dying, he’s right there and he’s _fine_. 

There’s rustling to his left, and the covers around his waist shift as Zuko pushes himself up to mirror Sokka’s sitting position. The motion makes him audibly wince, and Sokka’s heart clenches in his chest. It’s been _weeks_ , and yet Zuko’s entire upper half is still covered in bandages, his every movement imbued with caution as he avoids disturbing the injury to his abdomen. Even now, Sokka can’t look at him without remembering...everything, all over again. 

“Another nightmare?” Zuko asks, his voice still thick from sleep. 

Sokka thinks about lying, but his vocal cords have already given him away. “Yeah,” he admits. 

“About…?” 

“Yeah.”

He feels the soft pressure of Zuko’s hand on his back as he begins to rub up and down the line of Sokka’s spine. “That’s okay,” he says. Then, maybe because Sokka’s shoulders are still heaving: “Breathe with me.” 

Zuko takes an exaggerated inhale, and Sokka follows along, only releasing the air when Zuko’s shoulders slump beside him. The comfort it brings is twofold, because not only does it begin to slow the staccato rhythm of his heart, but it also reminds him that Zuko’s own organs are still pumping oxygen throughout his body, despite everything. 

It’s grounding, but it’s also infuriating. Sokka should be the one comforting _Zuko_ , not the other way around. Zuko’s the one who nearly died; Sokka’s just the one who sat by and _watched_. 

“I’m sorry – ”

“Don’t.” There’s a slight increase in pressure on his back. “You don’t have to apologize. Just breathe.” 

Sokka does as he’s told, filling his chest with another lungful of air. He’s slowly succeeding at calming himself down, but now panic is dissipating into desolation. 

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Zuko asks gently. 

What’s there to say? Zuko knows. He was there. He’s also been there every night since then, suffering patiently through Sokka’s deafening sleeplessness. 

“I just – _ugh_.” It hurts even to say it out loud. Sokka stares shamefully down at the bunched up covers in his lap. “I just...feel like this is my fault,” he whispers.

“Hm. I guess I forgot the part where you stabbed me.” 

That actually manages to get half a laugh from Sokka. “You know what I mean,” he insists. For the millionth time, he goes over the checklist in his mind: If he hadn’t written Zuko, he never would have been in the palace. If Sokka had fought faster, no one ever would have landed a blow on Zuko. If he’d thought quicker, if he’d screamed louder, if he’d tried harder, he could have found help before Zuko came as close as he did. Any way he slices it, the answer is the same: the bandages on Zuko’s chest are Sokka’s fault. And it’s by sheer luck that Zuko is still sharing their bed today. 

“I know,” Zuko murmurs, and the hand on Sokka’s back reaches higher, softly stroking his hair. “But I’m fine. _We’re_ fine. Nothing to feel guilty about.” 

“I never should have – ” _Fuck_ , he doesn’t even know how to end that sentence. Never should have – what? Moved to the Fire Nation? Started a relationship with Zuko in the first place? In the early-morning darkness casting shadows over their bedroom, suddenly everything Sokka’s ever done feels like a mistake. “I just – I just – I can’t let you get hurt again.” 

Sokka doesn’t even realize he’s crying until there are thumbs on his cheekbones, wiping the wet tracks away. It only makes the tears come harder. “Okay, okay,” Zuko is whispering, and the press of his lips against Sokka’s forehead is so warm it almost burns. “No one’s getting hurt. Okay? We’re safe here.” 

“Zuko – ” 

“We’re safe,” Zuko repeats against his skin. 

Whatever frayed rope is keeping Sokka’s emotions bound up seems to snap, and he dissolves into sobs, letting his shaking face fall against Zuko’s bare shoulder. He feels Zuko’s arms wrap tight around him, hugging him close even as Sokka soaks him in tears. “Okay, it’s okay,” Zuko keeps saying into his hair, and Sokka saves every soothing note in his mind, hoping if he replays it often enough it will start to feel true. 

He cries until his body seems to run out of tears to shed, until he’s just gasping against Zuko’s collarbone. Zuko doesn’t let go. 

It’s only when breaths start to come normally again that Sokka pulls away. “Sorry,” he mutters, wiping his nose with the back of his wrist. 

“ _Sokka_.” 

“I meant – thank you,” Sokka corrects himself. “For – that. And – yeah.” It feels too strange to say _thanks for being alive_ , so Sokka settles for, “I’m just...really, really glad you’re here.” 

“Me too,” Zuko agrees, nudging Sokka’s shoulder with his own. 

Somehow, that actually brings a smile to Sokka’s face. “Love you,” he mumbles, bumping his forehead against Zuko’s cheek. _Love you, love you, love you, love you,_ his heart echoes. 

“I know,” Zuko says, pressing another kiss into his hair. “Wanna go back to sleep?”

“Mhmm.”

“‘Kay. Come here,” Zuko says, maneuvering himself carefully back to horizontal so he can lay back against his pillow. He holds one arm open, and Sokka shifts downward to curl against him, resting his head on Zuko’s shoulder and wrapping both arms around his chest, above the line of his bandages. And it’s perfect, because from this position Sokka can feel the continuous rise and fall of Zuko’s chest: unmistakable proof that he’s _alive_. 

_He isn’t supposed to be here. But he is_. 

It’s a blessing that Zuko’s alive – that they both are. 

Sokka’s arms tighten around him. He doesn’t let go. 

**Author's Note:**

> HAPPY NEW YEAR! 
> 
> [tumblr!](https://engagedzukka.tumblr.com/)


End file.
